


smack a little booty up

by takesguts



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dry Orgasms, Kinky, LITERALLY, M/M, Sexual Tension, Teasing, as per usual, basically just porn, mickey is stubborn, mild homophobic references, seduction tactics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takesguts/pseuds/takesguts
Summary: Mickey refuses to be some sort of gay man stereotype. Mickey then gets a really hot roommate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WELP, nothing of importance. What else is new?

Something Mickey holds a lot of pride in - perhaps ridiculously so - is his lack of, well, _gay_. Most people don't know at first, can't even hazard a guess, are usually surprised when it - he - finally comes out. Not that he's ashamed, or nothin, not anymore but it sure does make shit a lot easier when he doesn't have to answer a million questions about his sexuality right off the bat.

 

 

  
Which is why, when his old flatmate moves out, and Mickey discovers from his brother's that his new soon to be flatmate is also gay; Mickey refuses to become another statistic. People just love to ask and make assuming comments about homosexual men's supposed promiscuity - even other gay dudes. Something Mickey found out the same night he discovered his ex cheating on him. _If we weren't allowed to sleep with other guys, what's the point of being gay?_

 

 

Unsurprisingly, those weren't the choice words Mickey had wanted to hear at the time. Thus leading to him kicking the shit out of the poor fucker who had dared to make such a pass at him in a fit of misguided rage.

 

 

  
Since then, Mickey has made it his own personal gay rights mission to not engage in typical queer community things. Such as gay pride parades, gay clubs, coffee shops, protests; you name it, Mickey Milkovich sure as fuck won't be there. Mandy says he's the worst gay guy ever, and how does he ever expect to get laid again if he acts like such a goddamn snob. Mandy's only ever made out with chicks at parties while she's wasted, though, so what the fuck does she know?

 

 

  
His brother's spend two weeks leading up to the move in date needling him about getting on that, bro, seriously. Mickey's only ever spoken to Ian on the phone a handful of times, just to set up the move in date and smaller details on rent and utilities, but it was his brother's who knew Ian first. The guy is apparently the choreographer for the girl's down at the club Iggy and Colin bounce at. They call it a club, but Mickey knows better, it's just a wannabe higher end titty bar that preys on college boys who spend their rich mommy and daddy's money.

 

 

  
If they had described Ian as anything other then a choreographer (a word he was shocked to find his brother's knew) Mickey might not have even believed the whole gay spiel. Lots of pervy dudes love to pretend to be gay so they can roam freely in the changing rooms and shit at those kinda places. Eventually he would have gotten it, however, due to his siblings relentless nagging about whether or not their baby brother was gonna hit it.

 

 

  
"I mean," Iggy garbles around a mouthful of cornbread, crumbs spewing all over Mickey's counter. Face scrunching in disgust, Mickey grabs a paper towel and wipes away the mess, using his free hand to shove his brother away. If he's gonna be a slob he might as well drool shit all over the floor where nobody can see it, or care. "For a dude," he continues, unperturbed by Mickey's behavior, "he's good looking. Built and shit. Red hair, I know you like gingers - all three of your - "

 

 

  
"Why don't _you_ fuck him then?" Mickey hisses, sniffing indignantly. He hasn't bothered to bestow his brother's with the knowledge of just why he's deflecting their creepy as fuck attempts to get him laid, knowing they would never let him live that shit down.

 

 

  
"Gross," Iggy says, frowning and scratching the back of his head a little stupidly.

 

 

  
"You're fucking gross," Mickey sneers, collecting the empty bottles of beer sitting by the sink - the ones he had even bothered to rinse out and dumping them in the waste basket he'd impulsively picked up at the supermarket last week after his second conversation with Ian.

 

 

  
The thing is - and it's the worst fucking part, it really is - is that Ian kind of sounds hot. Mickey didn't allow himself to look the guy up on social media, even after he got the guy's full name. Maybe it's something most people would have done, nothing strange about wanting to know what the person moving into your apartment looks like. Hell, most people meet in person first, but they worked different schedules, Ian spent his weekends packing and getting his shit together. Ian knew his brothers, it didn't seem like a big deal.

 

 

  
Still, he couldn't bring himself to even peek, felt like some sort of stalker weirdo. Just cause he's gay, and Ian's gay, it doesn't fucking mean anything. He wasn't going to cruise on his new roommate, wasn't going to sleep with him just cause they shared a similar interest in dick and conveniently would be living together. Things get messy like that, fucking and living together, sharing bills. Mickey's seen enough reality television and indie films.

 

 

  
Yeah, maybe Ian has a stupidly hot voice and Mickey's own brother says, theoretically, he would tap that ass. In theory, of course. But no, because Mickey is smart, smarter then a lot of people and he's cynical and has very rarely ever thought with his dick. A lot of that had to do with potentially getting killed while growing up, but they don't call it survival instinct for any old reason. Mickey will not be a stereotype, he just fucking won't.

 

 

  
As it turns out; Ian Gallagher is really hot. Stupidly, undeniably hot.

 

 

\- - - - -

 

 

  
As it also turns out, he is irresistibly hot.

 

 

  
Just a week into Ian's living there, Mickey finds himself a slave to his hormones. Catches himself doing stupid, pointless shit just to spend more time with Ian - waking up way earlier then he has to, watching dumb ass Netflix originals (good television, as fucking if) just to hang around him. Always grabbing an extra beer and opening it for him, sitting on the same couch, bringing home treats from the vegan bakery around the corner from the shop he works at because he learns Ian is a health freak but has a sweet tooth when he's stoned.

 

 

  
Mickey might also take to walking around in the few thin, almost translucent tank tops Mandy had gotten him for Christmas one year as a joke, sweatpants low on his waist so the very small of his back was visible as he moved around the house. Maybe started leaving shit in high places so he had to stretch and reach, making himself seem smaller and more lithe in that way that drove all of his ex's wild.

 

 

  
Turns out, Ian is not immune to that little trick as well.

 

 

  
Mickey can feel it, the first time Ian finally notices his efforts - can feel the way the redhead's green eyes track him around the kitchen. Can hear the barely there hum Ian makes as he goes up on his tiptoes for the pint class in the very back of the cupboard. There's five others in front of it, but Mickey likes the one he's going for, stole it from a bar in New Orleans when they traveled there last summer.

 

 

  
"Would you like me to get it?" Ian inquires, suddenly directly behind Mickey and an excited tickle spreads along his spine, making him shudder just slightly. Ian hums again, low and deep, nearly a chuckle and Mickey is starting to breathe harder.

 

 

  
Without waiting for an answer, Ian shuffles just a bit closer, Mickey can barely feel the length of his body along his own but it's close enough that when he reaches up he can smell Ian's cologne, maybe his deodorant. It's masculine and warm, slightly spicy, and Mickey places his hands down on the countertop to counteract the way his palms are beginning to burn.

 

 

  
"Here," he murmurs, setting the glass down in front of Mickey's hands, his bicep brushing along Mickey's.

 

 

"Thanks," Mickey replies, and he wants to believe his voice comes out sure and steady, but judging by the way Ian laughs shortly again he doesn't think he succeeds. In fact, he's absolutely positive he fails because Ian very deliberately presses his crotch against the swell of Mickey's ass. Swallowing convulsively, Mickey barely manages to keep himself from pushing back, but just barely. Ian's cock is only slightly stiff, nowhere near fully hard, and still he feels big - thick and solid.

 

 

  
For minutes after Ian leaves the kitchen, Mickey stands there, stunned and frustrated. All week long he's been aware of his actions, but until just now he either thought Ian was clueless, or even more probable, disinterested. In light of recent events, Mickey's shocked to discover his roommate is neither of those things and instead is a giant tease. One of those guys who probably knows most people want him, and gets off on the power he holds over suckers like Mickey.

 

 

  
Hell if he isn't right though; Mickey is a sucker. A huge, gay, cocksucking sucker.

 

 

  
The resolve to not sleep with his also gay roommate is starting to feel a little feeble.

 

 

  
\- - - -

 

 

  
For another week, the gay chicken continues.

 

 

  
Hot, lingering looks from both men, too long touches - Ian moves his pull up bar to his bedroom door and Mickey hangs around in his boxer briefs, the ones that stretch tight across his thighs and ass. Ian showers with the door open, is constantly shirtless, and is always finding ways to be all beefy and muscle-y in a way that if any other guy were to do it, Mickey would hate, but Ian is weird and quirky and funny all the rest of the time when he's not being a show off so Mickey appreciates it for what it is.

 

 

  
In turn, Mickey takes to jerking off right before Ian will get home so when he walks out to greet his roommate he's all post orgasm and glowy; face flushed, a little breathless, fingertips still trembling after a particularly good session. It's his favorite trick because it's the only one where Mickey doesn't feel like Ian has the upper hand. In those moments, Ian is helpless to do anything but stare and follow Mickey around their apartment, hovering closely, practically panting.

 

 

  
Quite honestly, it's getting a little ridiculous - Mickey is sure the both of them are climbing the goddamn walls at the sexual tension. His own dick is half hard ninety-eight percent of the time he's hanging around Ian. There's no doubt about it, Mickey - despite all his protesting and dismissal of his brother's original wheedling - wants to fuck his new roommate. Specifically, be fucked by his new roommate.

 

 

Because, well, one of Ian's other tactics is forgoing underwear completely it seems to lounge around in those thin sleep pants that leave no modesty in terms of his entire dick area.

 

 

  
In fact, it's happening right now - the pants are burgundy and soft looking, but Mickey hardly gave that observation a second thought. Probably because he's too busy gawking openly at Ian's crotch, where he's pretty sure he can make out his fucking cockhead and Mickey nearly swallows his tongue. Ian's not paying attention in favor of chugging one of the liter bottles of water he keeps stocked in the bottom of the fridge. Mickey takes the time to shift his gaze up, along the trail of red hair beneath Ian's belly button, to the sharp cut of his abs, the bony press of his sternum. Hungrily he eyes the way the man's throat moves as he swallows, over and over.

 

 

  
It takes a moment for him to register that Ian's stopped draining his water bottle, and is instead peering down at him through amused, narrowed eyes, lips curling in a filthy little smirk.

 

 

  
"See something you like?" Ian goads, like he already knows the answer but wants to hear Mickey say it out loud.

 

 

  
Every part of Mickey's body screams at him to say yes, yes he fucking does; likes everything he sees but especially that impressive fucking bulge Ian's sporting in those flimsy ass pants. Wants to see it sans pants, actually, more then he's wanted a lot of things - including some of his ex boyfriends whose cocks seem so sad and unsatisfying now.

 

 

  
His stupid, prideful brain though forces him to scoff, diverting his attention to the plain, beige wall and jerk his shoulder dismissively, "Fuck off, Gallagher."

 

 

  
They've never actually said anything about what they've been up to, just seemed to be some weird, unspoken game designed to slowly drive them insane. As it seems, Ian is maybe fed up with the pace, perhaps even more then Mickey if he's cracked enough to mention it out loud.

 

 

  
"Is there a reason we _aren't_ boning yet?" Ian asks crudely, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow in a bitch face that nearly rivals Mickey's own. "I mean, and don't take this the wrong way, but I am pretty certain you want this cock - " Mickey sputters incredulously, "and it's cool because I definitely want that ass. That sexy, fucking." He stops, taking a deep breath through his nose like he's trying to ground himself, eyes closing briefly.

 

 

  
Mickey's blood runs hot at the action, at the way Ian's eyes appear darker, more intense when he opens them again. Helpless, Mickey stares back, jaw shifting restlessly.

 

 

  
"No," Ian says, more to himself Mickey thinks, "no, you know what? Your brother's told me about your hang up about being too gay or whatever, but this is just stupid."

 

 

  
"What," Mickey squawks, perhaps a little embarrassingly high pitched, "they said that?"

 

 

  
Waving a hand, Ian continues, "Yeah, that you have some stupid rule about things you can and can't do in terms of being gay, but I hate to break it to you, those things aren't going to make you more or less of a homosexual. You just kind of _are_ one."

 

 

  
Hearing someone say it out loud like that, especially by some guy he just met two weeks ago makes him feel dumb and a little defensive. Of fucking course he knows he's gay, it was never about that. Not really.

 

 

  
He's having a hard time responding though, in any other way other then gaping openly. Half of him is stunned by the confrontation of his own internalized issues but also because if his brother's fucking knew they aren't quite as internalized as he originally thought.

 

 

  
"So, like," and finally Ian seems to be losing some of his confidence, deflating just slightly, "I don't get why you won't have sex with me when I also want to have sex with you. It'll be gay all around."

 

 

  
For another long, few moments Mickey sits quietly. He manages to close his mouth, but not much else happens while he works through the way his brain is short circuiting. He should be pissed, should be telling Ian that he doesn't know what he's talking about and that his brother's have no right opening their big fucking mouths about stupid shit.

 

 

  
But then, then he would potentially upset Ian. Then his roommate would more then likely leave the room, dejected, humiliated and shut down by Mickey's aggressive and unnecessary rejection. He'd probably slink off to his room and the two of them would spend the next few days awkwardly avoiding each other until they both brooded enough to start interacting a little bit again, still awkward for a little longer and then everything would be fine, but they would never end up sleeping together. Further down the road, one of them would date someone else, most likely Ian, and Mickey would hide out resentfully in his room while Ian banged some other guy and Mickey miserably mourned over what could have been.

 

 

  
So instead, he says, "Alright."

 

 

  
\- - - - - - -

 

 

  
What it ends up being is the best part of deciding to have sex with his roommate, is having sex with his roommate.

 

 

  
Not only is Ian's dick as big as Mickey thought, but he knows how to fucking use it. Knows how to use every part of his unfairly sexy body, actually, until Mickey is nothing but a pliant, babbling mess.

 

 

  
This wonderful point is being proven to him again, for the second time this particular Wednesday afternoon. The first time was this morning, before Ian left for his classes, but it started to fucking monsoon around noon and Mickey cancelled his only client for that day in favor of lazing around. Ian also apparently decided to skip his late classes and made his way home, one thing lead to another, and well -

 

 

  
Now Mickey is kneeling on his mattress, thighs spread obscenely and borderline painful while Ian holds his hips tightly, fucking the smaller man back onto his cock in a rhythm he likes. Palms splayed on the mattress, Mickey tries to keep himself upright and balanced, but his arms are starting to tremble and he's crossing into dangerous territory of falling forward.

 

 

 

 

  
"I got you," Ian murmurs hotly, one hand leaving his waist so he can tangle his fingers in Mickey's hair, tugging roughly so that the smaller man's back arches, "I got what you want, right here."

 

 

  
"Yes," Mickey cries, "yes, Ian, don't stop, don't stop -"

 

 

  
"Yeah, fuck," Ian growls in response, stilling the movement of Mickey's hips in favor of rolling his own, fast and sharp and so fucking deep with the way he has the brunet practically sitting on his cock.

 

 

  
"Fuck me so, you fuck me so good, Ian," Mickey praises, and it's not even weird or difficult for him like it would be with his previous suitors. He likes telling Ian all the dumb, gross, dirty shit that comes into his mind when they're screwing. He likes saying it, cause Ian fucking likes hearing it which is lame and corny but Mickey's discovering what gets Ian off has a good chance of also getting him off even if it's something he ordinarily would have written off.

 

 

  
"Oh yeah?" Ian groans, inquiring, tightening his fingers, "Do I fuck you good, Mick? Do you love this dick?"

 

 

  
"Fuck yes," Mickey gasps in agreement, trying pathetically to nod his head, "I love your dick, I love it, it's so big, stretching my fucking asshole, I fucking love it. Making me fucking take it, so fucking deep, Ian, _Ian yes_ -"

 

 

  
"Shit," Ian swears, dropping his forehead to the back of Mickey's neck momentarily, licking obscenely at the dampness of his skin. He breathes hard for a minute, stilling the movement of his pelvis.

 

 

  
Whining, Mickey wriggles a little, reaching back over his head to pull at Ian's own hair, impatient.

 

 

  
"Hold on, hold on," Ian shushes, horrifying Mickey more by shuffling back, his dick slipping out, "Sorry, your slutty fucking mouth," he laughs a little, dark and smoky and Mickey clenches his ass reflexively. "Turn over."

 

 

  
It's a few clumsy moments before Mickey can fully process the request in his sex addled brain, even as Ian begins maneuvering him onto his back. Only when he feels the relief of the strain in his thighs does he fully understand what Ian's asking of him but he doesn't hesitate to spread his legs open again, albeit more comfortably.

 

 

  
"Fucking look at you," Ian breathes, watching him with hungry, devouring eyes, "that fucking ass Mickey, fucking gorgeous." He tugs on his own condom covered cock absently while he ogles, baring his teeth in an almost feral sort of grin. "Ass looks so good taking my cock."

 

 

"Give it to me," Mickey says immediately, placing his hands on the inside of his thighs to open himself more, "give it to me, please, I need it, I need it."

 

 

  
"Need to be fucked, huh?" Ian taunts as he slides the head of his dick along Mickey's ass crack. Mickey likes using a lot of lube, even if Ian eats him out first - likes to get himself all slick and messy, so that he can hear the slick sounds of his asshole being fucked.

 

 

  
"So bad," Mickey whimpers, a little for show, but it makes Ian press into him again, steady and so fucking hard and _good_ , "ohhh, shit, yeah, yeahh," he moans, tossing his head back, body twisting fitfully, "right there, right there!" This time, he's not over exaggerating the pathetic, needy whine in his voice, unable to stop the way his legs and hips twitch from the way Ian's now fully pressing against his prostate.

 

 

"Right there," Ian echoes lowly, rocking his hips shallowly, not pulling out much so he can keep the angle. One of Mickey's legs is hooking around his lower back, keeping him close while his mouth drops open, the flush across his cheeks darkening.

 

 

  
Mickey is one of the few guys Ian's ever met, apparently, that can orgasm from just anal stimulation. Get him worked up enough, and he can have the most intense looking orgasms Ian's ever had the pleasure of witnessing. And causing. Mickey doesn't always like to talk about it, outside of the bedroom, a lingering sort of stipulation that he's somehow some sort of bitch because he doesn't need his cock touched to come, but Ian thinks it's glorious how sensitive he is. Not to mention the wonders it does for his ego when Mickey can't stand or talk for ten to fifteen minutes afterward, how he's unable to do anything but lay there, shaking while Ian cleans them up.

 

 

 

"Right there," Mickey says again, breathy and high pitched, toes curling, eyes nearly crossing at the relentless, constant pressure of Ian's cock nudging against his prostate over and over. One of Ian's hands is braced on the mattress as he shifts over Mickey's torso, the other making its way to his hair again, petting and smoothing back the dark, nearly wet locks. "Right, ohh, fuck, oh fuck."

 

 

  
"This gonna make you come," Ian encourages, lowering his head so their noses are touching, mouths brushing as he speaks.

 

 

  
"I'm gonna come, yeah, you're making me come like this," Mickey pants, trying to hold Ian's gaze. Smugly, Ian licks along Mickey's lips, grinning when Mickey opens his mouth immediately. He doesn't press their lips together for a kiss, instead just tangles their tongues, licking filthily, teeth occasionally clicking. It's definitely a little porny, the way they're just lapping at each other's tongues, saliva pooling and mixing around their mouths.

 

 

  
It's worth it, though, the crude imitation of a kiss because it makes Ian hot all over, makes his blood boil and makes his dick harden even more, if that was even possible. The noises they're making between the two of them - heavy breaths, Ian's primal sounding grunts, Mickey's desperate, pleading cries - fill the otherwise silent room. He keeps himself pressed close, deep as he shoves his hips harder, faster until Mickey is choking on half screams, attempting to keep quiet.

 

 

  
"I'm gonna come," he repeats after he tears his mouth away from Ian's devouring one, tossing his head back, "it's so fucking _good_ , I feel so fucking good."

 

 

  
"Yeah, Mickey, come," Ian starts, predatory, "come all over yourself, let me see you come all over yourself."

 

 

  
"Ohh, yeah, yeah," Mickey cries, curling a hand around Ian's bicep, the other tangling in the sheets. His whole body is tensing up again, winding tighter, closer, and Ian pulls him even closer, somehow. Cradles a big palm around the base of his skull, arm snaking along his lower back to shift him more into his lap. It's only a dozen more thrusts before he stills completely, hand flying up to cover his mouth.

 

 

  
"Fuck," Ian growls, unable to look away while Mickey shakes and writhes through his orgasm, almost silent aside from the few, gasping sobs he's unable to keep himself from making through his fingers. There's, surprisingly, only a little amount of come and something dark churns in Ian's stomach at the realization of what he was able to make Mickey do.

 

 

Ian waits until it seems like Mickey's orgasm has mostly subsided, even though his thighs and hips keep twitching sporadically, before pulling out. The desire to keep going, to push his legs up and absolutely ravage him is strong, almost unbearable, but after that Ian sincerely doubts Mickey would be able to handle anymore stimulation.

 

 

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Ian shuffles up Mickey's torso until he's straddling his shoulders, rolling the condom off his erection, "Can I just," he grunts softly, low and pleased when Mickey opens his mouth, blinking up at him with wet eyes while Ian works his cock inside his mouth, thrusting shallowly. "Not gonna take long," he rasps, dropping his head back at the warm, wet suction of Mickey's throat as he swallows.

 

 

  
He isn't lying, it's only a minute or two before he finishes in Mickey's mouth, making a dirty, appreciative sound at the way some of his load drips sloppily out of his mouth.

 

 

  
Sighing loudly, a little exhausted, Ian swipes his thumb along the mess, smiling genuinely as Mickey suckles at it.

 

 

  
"So sexy," Ian murmurs, reaching over to the nightstand for some tissues and the remote.

 

 

It takes him a few minutes to get them cleaned up, distracted by Mickey's wandering hands smoothing over his back, along his jaw and neck, and the way they keep pressing short, deep kisses against each other's mouths.

 

 

When Ian finally collapses next to him in bed, Mickey's curled in his side, small enough so that Ian can wrap around him, palm pressed possessively on his lower stomach. He kisses Mickey's neck, his shoulders, the back of his head and flicks on the television, settling on an ocean documentary that comes up in Mickey's suggested for you list.

 

 

  
As Mickey's falling asleep, fully intending on a post sex nap, he thinks - a little romantically, if he's honest with himself - that this was a rainy afternoon well spent.

 

 

  
\- - - - -

 

 

  
Two months pass in a blur of awesome sex and getting to know each other and eventual dates. By the third month, Ian's moving his shit into Mickey's bedroom and they're advertising for a third, gay friendly roommate.

**Author's Note:**

> It's like I am incapable of writing anything of actual substance. Strictly mild, pointless smut surrounded by a lot of barely there plot. Thanks for stopping by anyway guys! 
> 
>  
> 
> Namaste!


End file.
